


i carry your heart in mine

by millsx



Category: One Direction
Genre: Breakup AU, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Famous!Louis, Famous/Non-Famous Au, Fighting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Hurt, M/M, alternative universe, childhood AU, doctor!harry, highschool sweethearts, is that even a thing?, larry au, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millsx/pseuds/millsx
Summary: It all starts with Harry covering a shift for his colleague.It ends in old wounds, resurfaced feelings and an ex-boyfriend Harry never really got over.A typical Friday night usually looks like this for Harry: Going out for a greasy pub dinner with his mates, crashing on his bed with his clothes on at one in the morning and getting up five hours later for his morning shift at the hospital.A typical Friday night does not involve running into his ex in the emergency room, it doesn’t involve Harry trying to convince everyone that he can’t be on drugs, that there has to be something else.
Relationships: Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Larry Stylinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 234





	i carry your heart in mine

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back again!  
> This AU is somehow very close to my heart and I had the time of my life writing this, so I really hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did.  
> As always, I love getting reviews about my works, so please tell me what you liked and what you didn't like or what you wish would have happened. Maybe I'll include it in an upcoming work or in an epilogue if I decide to write one.  
> I included a soundtrack in the beginning of the story which, if you listen to it in the given order, will tell you the story of their relationship and also Louis' side of the story as I imagined him writing/performing those songs.  
> Disclaimer: Even though I am interested in medicine, I am neither a med student, nor am I from the UK, so it's very likely that there are some mistakes in here regarding medical issues as well as inaccuracies about university and med school.   
> I hope you are all staying safe during times like these.  
> mills x

Soundtrack:  
18 – One Direction  
Night Changes – One Direction  
You & I – One Direction  
Spaces – One Direction  
Defenceless – Louis Tomlinson  
Explain You – JP Saxe  
Too Young – Louis Tomlinson  
Miss You – Louis Tomlinson  
Back To You – Louis Tomlinson  
Two Ghosts – Harry Styles  
Habit – Louis Tomlinson  
Infinity – One Direction  
Unsteady – X Ambassadors  
If I Could Fly – One Direction  
Strong – One Direction  
Always You – Louis Tomlinson  
We Made It – Louis Tomlinson 

*** 

A typical Friday night usually looks like this for Harry: Going out for a greasy pub dinner with his mates, crashing on his bed with his clothes on at one in the morning and getting up five hours later for his morning shift at the hospital. 

A typical Friday night does not involve running into his ex in the emergency room, it doesn’t involve Harry trying to convince everyone that he can’t be on drugs, that there has to be something else. 

*** 

It starts with Liam needing an out for Friday night because of a date with some girl Harry doesn’t know the name of. He promised to cover the morning shift for him in return, plus an additional one whenever Harry needed it, which isn’t a bad deal. So, naturally, Harry took it. He didn’t even think twice about it. 

Right now, his feet are tired, and legs are sore, and his eyes are burning with exhaustion. There are two hours left on the clock until Harry can go home and call it a day, and, to be blunt, those two hours could not go by fast enough.

“Did you call my cousin?” Someone asks him, speeding up their steps to keep up with Harry’s pace as he makes his way to the nurse’s station. A nurse told him he needs to sign some papers, or else there could be problems with the transfer of a patient.

He looks at Molly, who is a nurse and only a year older than him, her black curls bouncing with every step. 

“Not yet. Maybe I will, I don’t know,” he replies. She checks her pager, shakes her head and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Harry isn’t quite sure whether that was directed at him or her pager, and he’d rather not ask. 

No matter how good of a friend Molly is, she can be a little brisk and snarky from time to time, especially when she’s stressed. 

“You totally should, H. You need go out, and he’s the perfect match for you,” she adds without looking at him. 

“According to whom?” Harry asks her as he reaches the nurse’s station, clicking his pen a few times. 

“Honestly, H, you haven’t had a single serious boyfriend since – I don’t even know, at least not since I met you,” Molly says, pushing a button as her pager beeps again, “’M not saying anything, but you need to get laid.” 

Harry signs the paper a different nurse hands him and scoffs, “Who says I’m not getting laid?” 

“TMI, Harold. I don’t even want to know. Just call him, alright?” Molly turns around, heading off toward Trauma One, “Another anoxic teenage girl just came in from that concert. Honestly, why can’t those fucking voluntary paramedics just do their jobs _at_ the arena?” 

“’s not like you’re the one who asked,” Harry mutters underneath his breath as she walks away. 

“What’s that, dear?” The older nurse working the station asks, but Harry shakes his head. Being friends with Molly can be exhausting. Maybe he will call this cousin of her, just so she can lay off his back. 

The doors leading to the ambulance bay are pushed open, paramedics pushing in a stretcher. 

“Styles, you’re with me,” Dr Header, head of the emergency department, calls out and waves Harry in his directions. 

Harry jogs to the paramedics but doesn’t hear the first few words. 

_… AOS at 87, shallow breathing, hypotensive. Mostly unconscious, we haven’t really gotten any words outta him_ , is the only thing he hears. 

Harry has to double his pace as he rushes next to the stretcher toward Trauma Three, noting the vitals down on his clipboard. 

“Quick thinking, Styles, what do we do?” Header asks the moment Harry looks down to help lift the patient off the stretcher. 

Which is when Harry’s breath catches in the back of his throat and he himself feels like fainting. _He knows him_. Sure, the face is pale and partially hidden by a respiratory mask and a dressing around the head, but Harry would recognize that face anywhere, even if he hasn’t seen it in two years. 

Blue eyes that glisten in the sunlight and brown hair that sticks out in every direction in the morning, contrasting the white of pillowcases. High cheekbones that Harry used to kiss hello and goodbye every single day of his life for six years. Tattooed hands and arms, some of them even matching and completing his own. 

_Shit._

It feels like there isn’t a single ounce of oxygen left in his lungs, or in the air. Not in the entire world. He knows that person lying unconscious in front of him, he’s known him his entire life. From five and seven, spending summer days at the pool and from twelve and fourteen, watching the stars while lying on the trampoline in Harry’s backyard and from sixteen and eighteen, holding hands for the first time as boyfriends. 

Harry might just throw up. 

This can’t be real. It can’t. This can’t be _his_ Louis, there needs to be some kind of mistake. But when he checks the file on his clipboard that he ignored until now, it’s all there. _Louis William Tomlinson, age 26_ He hasn’t been his Louis for a while now, but right now, it still feels like he is. 

“Styles, are you even listening? I said that this is likely a drug overdose. So, what do we do?” Header asks, yanking him back into reality. 

“This isn’t a drug overdose,” Harry mumbles, eyes still trained on Louis’ face. 

“Excuse me? It’s all there, honestly. Check the symptoms, for God’s sake,” his boss replies. He then turns to a nurse, saying, “Start him on activated charcoal and order a stomach pump. Whatever it is that’s in his system, it needs to get out” 

“No,” Harry interjects, springing back to life, “check his blood first. I’m almost a hundred percent sure that this isn’t an OD”

A thousand thoughts are racing through his minds as he continues, combing through his years of med school, “Activated charcoal could cause a blockage or – regurgitation” 

“I thought you went to med school. We haven’t talked to any friends or family, and the symptoms are all right there,” Header argues, checking the vitals again, “Every celebrity has some sort of history of substance abuse” 

“He doesn’t, Sir. I know it,” Harry says. 

Technically, Harry doesn’t know it. But Louis isn’t like that. He doesn’t _do drugs_. Sure, he’s always smoked at parties and even more regularly after becoming successful, and he liked his beer at the pub, but Louis would have never done any drugs. Harry is sure of it. 

“What, you’re a big fan? Styles, stop with the antics, we need to get moving. Charcoal, fluids and stomach pump. That’s my last word,” Header says. 

The nurse standing between them follows their argument with her eyes like a tennis match, but Harry doesn’t pay attention, he just stares at Louis, heart sinking. 

“No, uhm,” Harry swallows, “I grew up with him. He never did any drugs, not even weed. Trust me on this, please. Do the blood test first and keep him on fluids until the results are back. If I’m wrong, fire me, I don’t care.”

Header sighs and lets his head fall back. “Alright, I’ll trust you. Run the test first, then treat him accordingly. If we get in any trouble for malpractice or treating him too late, you’re done. And you’re off the case, you can’t treat family or close friends.” 

“You’d get sued for malpractice if you treat him without any tests,” Harry mutters to himself, glad that no one is actually paying attention to him anymore. 

***

“Jay? I’m sorry for calling so late, but –,“ Harry is interrupted by a very enthusiastic Jay, “Harry, honey, no worries! I haven’t heard from you in so long, how are you? How’s uni going?” 

“Actually, uhm. ‘M not calling about myself,” Harry starts again, voice quivering, “It’s Louis. He’s in the ER, brought him in maybe twenty minutes ago. ‘Wasn’t sure if you heard, there wasn’t anyone with him in the ambulance.”

“Louis? In the hospital? Is he okay? Is he hurt?” Jay ask, her voice immediately swinging to concern. 

“I’m not sure, I’m off the case. But, uhm, he was in a pretty tough condition when he got here. I’m guessing it’s his circulation, but I don’t know,” he admits, burying his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that there are symptoms of drug abuse. 

“Oh my God, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me when there’s anything else, okay? And thanks for calling, love”

With that, she hangs up. Harry is about to call his own mother, he needs to talk to someone, get his thoughts straight. He can’t wrap his head around this. But then, the door to the break room swings open, and someone drops a pile of papers in front of him. 

“What’s this?” Harry asks, looking at Molly’s perfectly manicured fingernails instead of the papers. 

“Nondisclosure agreements. Everyone working on Tomlinson has to sign them. You’ll never guess how many people are trying to get into the ER right now. Journalists, fans, photographers, it’s insane. Apparently, he fainted right on stage in the middle of his concert, for everyone to see. Anyway, are you okay? I heard about you being friends with him,” Molly tells him and sits down next to him. She lets her head rest on his shoulder for a second, and the physical closeness helps a little. The familiar smell of her shampoo helps. 

“We’re not friends. Not really,” Harry says as he exhales. He starts signing the papers, one after one. He doesn’t have to read them, he knows what they say. Back when he was with Louis, he’d signed what felt like thousands of NDAs. 

“But Jen told me that you told Header that you grew up with him,” Molly frowns, pulling back a little to look at Harry’s face. 

“We did,” he sighs, “It’s a long story. We grew up on the same street, dated at sixteen and broke up at twenty-two. Haven’t really seen him since then”

“Shit, Harry, I’m sorry,” Molly says and squeezes his shoulder, “You never told me. I knew there was something, _someone_ , but I never wanted to ask.”

“No one really knows. Except Liam and my mates back home. I don’t talk about him that much. It’s done and over,” Harry says, trying to shrug it off. He fails miserably.  
Because, no matter how often he tells himself that, he doesn’t _feel_ like it’s done and over. Especially now that somewhere in this emergency room, Louis is being tested for all sorts of stuff, and Harry can’t do anything except for praying that it isn’t an OD. It would break Jay’s heart. 

“’s that why you were so sure that this isn’t drug infused?” Molly asks carefully. 

“Yeah. It might have been years, but I know he wouldn’t. He just – There’s a lot of history, he would never take drugs,” Harry tries to articulate, and Molly nods. Her pager beeps. 

“Alright, that’s the lab. You stay here, you’re in no condition to work right now. I’ll tell you if I hear something,” Molly ruffles through his hair with one hand as she gets up. 

He wants to thank her, wants to hug her and thank her for being a good friend, but there aren’t any words left in his mouth. Whenever he blinks, there’s that picture of Louis again, all pale, barely there and downright _miserable_ and Harry doesn’t know what to do, how to feel. He wants to puke, break something and run away. He wants to see Louis, wants to hold his hand, tell him everything’s going to be alright. 

Harry lets his head fall back, letting it rest on the edge of the backrest. There’s a hot tear running down his cheek, but he doesn’t have the energy to wipe it away. It’s all too much. 

He doesn’t know how much time goes by where he just sits there, trying not to think about Louis. Of course, he fails. At one point, the door swings open again, and Molly is standing there, the lab results in her hand. 

“Fetched you a copy. Header says it is hypoglycemia,” Molly says, a bright smile on her face, “You were right, H. Shit, you probably saved him from a blockage” 

Harry frowns, not able to feel good about being right, knowing better than his own boss. He was only guessing, after all. If he didn’t know Louis, he’d probably have suspected an OD too. Instead, he takes the results from Molly, flipping through them. “He’s diabetic?” 

“No, it’s non-reactive. They’re not sure what caused it, probably some sort of medication,” Molly explains. 

“He’s going to be alright, H, you can stop worrying. I also got you a pass for his room, in case – in case you want to see him”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles, hugging her tight. “I think I’ll call his mum first, I don’t know if she’s here yet”

“’Don’t think so. Last time it was just a close friend and his team, I guess. No family yet,” Molly says. “I need to get back, but if you need anything, just page me, okay?” 

Harry nods, already thumbing at his phone. 

“Harry? I’ll be there in about an hour, Lou’s manager called me, too. He said they’re thinking it’s drugs? Please, love, tell me they’re wrong. It can’t be, Harry, you know him. He’d never. Not my baby,” Jay says, voice shaky. 

Fucking management. Harry never liked them, and he knows why. 

“It’s not, Jay. I don’t know where they got that idea, but I just looked at the bloodwork myself and it’s non-reactive hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar levels that caused his body to shut down. He’ll be fine, I think they’re trying to figure out what caused it right now. He’ll probably be out of here in a few days,” Harry explains. He can’t hide how relieved he is. 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all night. Thank you, Harry, thank you so much. Check on him until I’m there, okay?” 

Even though Harry isn’t sure whether he wants that, he could never refuse her. Harry’s known her his entire life, and she’s always been a second in command to his own mother, and even after Louis’ and his breakup, she always was there for him, whatever he needed. Harry knows Louis still talks to Harry’s mother, Anne, too. 

That’s why he’s showing the security guard in front of Louis’ room his pass right now. The guy nods and opens the door for him. 

When Harry hesitates for a second, he grunts, “I don’t have all day, boy. Go in or stay outside.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles and enters the room. The door is closed shut behind him. Louis looks incredibly small in the hospital bed, skin almost the same shade as the duvet covers. It breaks Harry even more to see him like that. In his head, there are a thousand memories of Louis from over the years. For the most part, they are happy ones, ones that make him smile or laugh. Toward the end of their relationship, there are pretty horrible ones. Tears and fights and yelling and disappointment and heartbreak. But this moment right now is worse than all of those. He’d rather go through their breakup again and again than see Louis like this. 

“Hi,” he whispers and pulls a chair closer to the bed. Louis’ eyes are closed, and his breathing is even, telling Harry he won’t hear him anyway. 

“Jay is gonna be here really soon, she asked me to make sure you’re not alone,” Harry goes on and cautiously takes Louis’ hand. He inhales sharply at the touch of their skin. It’s been way too long since he’s seen Louis, talked to him, touched him. 

“Shit, you really scared me, Lou,” Harry breathes shakily, more tears brewing behind his eyes. He swallows and wished them to go away. 

“Haz?” Louis whisper so faintly, Harry almost misses it. Louis doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move, only squeezes Harry’s hand a little. 

“Yeah,” Harry swallows again, “’m here, Lou.” 

He lifts up their intertwined hands and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. It almost too much. Their hands still fit together perfectly as if nothing ever happened, when in truth, he hasn’t seen Louis in person since they broke up. Once, they ran into each other in the supermarket in Holmes Chapel on Christmas, and Harry did nothing but wish Louis a happy birthday and then he left without buying what he came for. 

And to be sitting next to Louis, holding his hand like it’s still _his_ , like they still belong together, tugs at his heart and causes a bitter taste to well up in his mouth. 

Louis falls back asleep after that, and Harry sits there, holding his hand, and watches him. He tries not to think about what’s going to happen next. As soon as Jay gets here, he’ll go home and sleep for an entire day. His next shift is Monday night and until then, Louis might already be cleared to go home again. Louis probably won’t even remember him being there. Maybe it’s for the better, their breakup was somewhat inevitable and Harry would rather not be faced with that again. 

So Harry hugs Jay tight when she enters the room, promises to call her the next day and leaves without looking back. If he did, he would come back again and again, he knows it. A part of him will always belong to Louis, but that doesn’t mean that he should indulge that part. 

*** 

“Wait, so you just didn’t talk to him?” Liam asks over the phone. It’s Monday evening, and Harry just got home from work. He’s sprawled on the couch of his apartment, his phone resting on his knee as he talks to Liam while simultaneously eating his dinner. He’s just too hungry to wait for Liam to hang up. 

“I talked to Jay,” Harry offers and maneuvers another fork full of shepherd’s pie into his mouth. 

“Harry,” Liam groans, “That’s not how this works. You can’t walk around the hospital, listening to gossip about him and his condition and only talk to his mother. I know Jay is like family to you, but – “ 

“Then tell me, Li, what am I supposed to do? I haven’t talked to him in three years, why would I start now?” Harry asks in frustration, “It’s not that easy.” 

“Come on, H, you know why. There are a lot of unsolved problems between you two” 

Even though Liam doesn’t say it, Harry hears the _And you never stopped loving him_ anyway. He knows that’s what Liam is getting at, but in true Harry fashion, he ignores it. 

“Oh, and you think a _hospital bed_ is the right place to solve them?” 

“No, but – I know you, and I know seeing him, especially like that, must have done something to you. Burying it doesn’t solve it,” Liam sighs and Harry can tell he’s losing his patience. 

In contrast to all of Harry’s friends, Liam is the only one who actually met Harry while he was still with Louis. He was there when they broke up, picking up the pieces left of what once was Harry’s life. 

And damn right, seeing Louis did something to him. It brought up bottled up feelings Harry almost forgot about, it broke his heart and left him wanting more. More of Louis, more of the way his skin feels, more of his own heartbeat doubling its pace with just one look. 

“Liam, I can’t. Our breakup was – I don’t know, there was no way that we could have avoided that. And I really can’t go through that again. Losing him almost killed me,” Harry admits quietly, suddenly not very hungry anymore. He puts the plate on the coffee table and tucks up his legs, hugging them. 

Liam lets out another long-drawn sigh, “Okay. Just – call me if you need anything or want to talk some more, yeah?”

“I promise I will. Thanks, Lee.” 

“Of course. I have to get going, see you tomorrow,” Liam says. There is rustling in the background, which is probably Liam trying to carry his stuff to the car without dropping his phone. 

“Have a good shift,” Harry wishes Liam and hangs up. 

The plate of food is cold by now and Harry stares at it for a second before he manages to gather enough motivation to get up and put it away. 

He gets a text from Molly right after finishing emptying the dishwasher. _Can I borrow your ice cream machine? I know you got one and my roommate needs it for a dessert_. 

He writes back that she can pick it up whenever, he’s home for the reminder of the day, and immediately starts digging through his storage closet to find it. It’s only march, so he hasn’t used it yet and it is very likely that he buried it underneath winter clothes a week ago. 

By the time he finds it, he’s sweaty and covered in dust and spider webs. It somehow got pushed to the very back, jammed between a broken pressing iron and a sandwich maker he’s never used. He pulls at carton packaging, twice, until it finally budges. With it, the two boxes that were standing on top of it come tumbling down to the floor. 

Harry lets out a groan and bends down to pick the boxes up. They’re labeled with blue construction paper and taped shut with duct tape. Harry’s heart sinks a little, he knows exactly what is in them 

_Louis #1_ and _Louis #2_. 

He’s about to put them away again, shut the door behind him and forget that they even exist, just like up until now, but Molly chooses that exact moment to knock at the door to his apartment. 

“Coming!” Harry yells toward the door and carries the boxes into the living room. 

“I thought you’d never let me in,” Molly complains as soon as he opens the door and pushes past him, leaving the door open behind her. 

Harry shakes his head at his friend and closes the door as he watches how she flops down on the couch. He also doesn’t miss the way she curiously eyes the boxes on the floor. 

It’s almost weird seeing her without the bordeaux scrubs all nurses have to wear at the hospital. Instead, she’s in mom-jeans, a crop top and an unbuttoned flannel shirt. She looks very different in it, more like home and relaxed evenings in front of the TV. 

“Here’s the ice cream machine. I haven’t used it in a few months, but the manual is in the box if your roommate needs it,” Harry explains and sets the boy down in front of Molly. He partially expects her to take it and leave, so that he can go back to deciding whether he wants to open those boxes or not, but Molly being Molly, she just nods absently. 

“What’s in those?” She asks instead. 

“Old stuff. Stumbled over them while looking for the ice cream machine,” Harry explains and stares at the boxes like they did something to personally offend him. They kind of did. 

“Oh my God, is there a chance I get to see baby Harry pictures?” She coos excitedly, already ripping open the duct tape. There goes Harry’s decision-making. 

“Kind of,” he mutters, sitting down on the ground beside Molly. 

She opened Box number one first, and on top of it are various stuffed animals, varying in sizes. Molly throws them aside without looking at them, and Harry just stares at the little blue dolphin that lands in his lap. 

_Harry is sixteen, and he’s watching as Louis tries to shoot tiny basketballs through hoops at the arcade. It’s his fifth try, and Harry’s cheering is growing less and less enthusiastic._

_“Lou, c’mon, let’s do something else. You can win a different game,” Harry tries to convince him, but Louis wipes at his eyebrow with the back of his hand and shakes his head._

_“Nope. ‘m gonna win you that stupid dolphin, whether you want it or not,” Louis argues, and throws another basketball. This time, it doesn’t miss the hoop._

_On his seventh round, Louis finally seems to dupe the game, only missing three throws. When he hands Harry the plush dolphin five minutes later, his eyes sparkle with happiness and his smile alone could probably power an entire house for two weeks._

_In the back of his mind, Harry swears to himself that he’ll never forget this moment._

“Harry, I’m talking to you,” Molly waves a hand in front of his face, occasionally snapping her fingers. 

“What? Sorry, ‘was distracted,” he replies and drops the dolphin in his hands like it’s a hot potato. 

“I noticed. Is that you and Louis?” She asks, shoving a picture in his direction. 

“Yeah. I think I was about three and he was probably five or six. That was the summer the Tomlinson’s moved in next to us,” he explains, eyes glued to the picture. On it, Harry is riding a tricycle and Louis is behind him, pushing it. Both of their faces are smeared with ice cream and their grins are mirroring each other. 

“God, you’re adorable! How’d you meet?” 

Harry leans back against the sofa, closing his eyes. “I don’t actually remember it. For me, Louis has just always been in my life,” he lets out a sigh, “but Louis loved to tell this story about how both of our families were at the local pool. Apparently, I fell flat on my face, and he helped me find my mum. I don’t know how true that is, Louis was always good at making up stories that feature himself as the hero.” 

Harry smiles at the memory, ignoring the pain in his heart. 

“It sucks, you know,” he starts again, with his eyes still closed, “I wish it was just a relationship that ended. But Louis,” Harry bites down at his lip, trying not to lose his composure, “he was my best friend for my _entire life_. It’s been years and whenever something happens in my life, he’s the first person I want to call. It’s some sort of instinct or old habit, I don’t know.” 

Molly wraps herself around Harry, squeezing him tight, “I’m so sorry, H. That’s what this box is about, isn’t it? That’s not just childhood photos, but everything Louis.”

“Yeah,” he lets out a quivering breath. When he inhales, he notices that Molly smells like cinnamon rolls and oranges. It’s a weird, but lovely combo. 

“When we broke up, I just put everything into those two boxes and never looked at it again. I couldn’t throw it away, those are the first twenty years of my life,” he says. 

“We can put it all away and do something else if you want. I’m sorry I even opened it,” Molly offers, backing off and already starting to put the pictures and stuffed animals back. 

“No, maybe I should take a look at all of this. It’s better I do it with you than alone,” Harry says. 

*** 

“Can I ask you something?” Molly asks cautiously and rubs the back of her neck. It’s been over an hour, and they’re sitting between old pictures, concert tickets, books and other random stuff that make Harry think of Louis. He might be going insane, but he feels like the air even smells like their old apartment did. 

Harry nods, looking at her expectantly.

“What did you mean when you said that there was a history with Louis and drugs? He’s not an addict, is he?” Molly almost seems shy when she asks. 

“No, that’s not it. ‘s his dad. I don’t think I’ve ever met him,” Harry says, rubbing his eyebrow, “but he wasn’t a good dad when he and Louis’ mother were still together. Wasting money, not around, all that. I think Jay inherited a fair sum from an aunt or something and, just, packed their things and moved to Holmes Chapel. She never looked back, and Louis’ dad never tried to contact her again. 

“If it weren’t for the drugs and the alcohol, he might have made a decent father, I don’t know. Jay did her best to keep us away from alcohol and parties for as long as she could. She would’ve never forgiven herself if Louis chose the same path as his dad,” he finishes. 

“And you knew he didn’t because…?” Molly presses, and Harry knows she’s only doing it because she actually wants to understand him. 

He runs his finger along the top of the box, feeling the waved cardboard of it. “I guess because he would never even _think_ about doing drugs. He’s got a very close relationship with his mum, always has,” he shrugs. A lot could have changed in the last two years, but not that. Harry would lose his faith in the entirety of humanity. 

“You really know him,” Molly says. The look on her face is thoughtful. 

“Inside out. It’s the same the other way around,” he agrees, “Sometimes I wonder how we let that happen, you know? I can’t remember a single day of my childhood where I didn’t know him, and now we’re not even talking.” 

“Oh, babe,” she lets her head rest on Harry’s shoulder, “Maybe you just have to accept the past for what it is. Close the chapter, but look back with a smile on your lips.”

*** 

Tuesday comes with clouds of rain and cold air that make Harry dread his morning run. It’s drizzling, and the wind makes the cold soak through the fabric of his clothes. 

The hot shower he takes afterwards only helps until he’s outside again, walking from the tube towards the hospital. There is a text on his phone from Liam, asking him to pick up his new staff ID at the reception in the main wing before his shift, which is why Harry doesn’t take the entrance to the ER but the main entrance instead. 

It’s crowded, more than usually, and Harry has trouble even getting to the doors. He soon realizes why. Apparently, Louis got discharged during the first ward round of the day, because he is making his way out of the hospital right now. Someone with jet black hair is walking next to him, an arm wrapped around Louis’ wait. 

There is a pang of jealousy in his chest. Of course, he thought about Louis moving on and being with someone else, but he never actually believed that it would be true. He had secretly hoped that Louis felt the same way he did, even after two years. 

Someone starts yelling Louis’ name, causing him to visibly startle. It’s infuriating. Some people really don’t have even a little bit of empathy inside of them.

“Jesus, he’s leaving the hospital, back off a little,” Harry says to the man who called for his name as he walks past him. He probably shouldn’t have, because now, several others around them are looking at him. 

He scoffs and pushes past them, he still has a job and after his small quarrel with his boss on Friday, he’d rather not be late. 

But then Louis looks up, right into Harry’s face, eyes locking. Harry, once again, feels like he can’t breathe anymore. The bandage around Louis’ forehead where he hit his head was replaced by a smaller bandaid, and his skin color is back to normal again. Soft-looking brown strands of hair stick out from under his beanie, and his eyes are still so ocean blue, Harry feels like he might drown. 

Louis’ mouth falls open like he’s about to say something, they’re only a few meters apart now, but the guy with the black hair pushes him toward a car waiting for them, and Harry tears his gaze away. He can hear the door of the car shut, and the moment is over. 

*** 

There is a missed call on Harry’s phone from a number he doesn’t know when he gets back to his flat. His feet are tired and his legs tingle and he has the suspicion that it’s the telephone company again, trying to convince him to extend his contract. He doesn’t really have the nerve to deal with that right now, so he just ignores it. 

Only an hour later he realizes that the caller left a voice message. 

He clicks play and nearly drops the frying pan he used to make himself dinner when he recognizes the voice. Soft and raspy at the same time, the accent that makes his words dance like a melody. 

_“Hi, uhm. This is Louis. I really hope this is still your number. If you’re not Harry, just stop listening right now. But if you are, don’t. I don’t know if you even want to talk to me, but – I honestly thought I imagined you sitting next to my hospital bed, holding my hand. Like, maybe it was some sort of fever dream, I don’t know. You’re the doctor, not me_ , Louis chuckles, and Harry wants to cry, _“Anyway. When I saw you today, I don’t know. I guess it’s hard seeing you actually live your life without me. Shit, that’s not what I meant. Call me back, okay? It’s Lou.”_

Like Harry would ever forget who was talking. He’s pretty certain he could pick Louis’ voice out of hundreds of others. Even if they all had the same accent. 

Harry hits call before he can even think about anything else, it’s like his fingers are acting on their own accord and stopped listening to his brain. The dial-tone rings a few time, until his speakers click, signaling that someone picked up. 

There is a moment where no one talks and Harry is frantically combing through his brain, trying to find something to say. He really should have thought this through. 

“Hi. It’s Harry,” he finally manages to get out and has to sit down at his kitchen table in order to prepare himself to hear Louis talking. Live and in color. Well, maybe not really, but still. This isn’t him stalking him online during a lonely night and watching interviews at two in the morning. 

“You actually called back,” Louis lets out a surprised huff. 

“Sorry it took so long. I was working all day and then I thought it was the phone company and then I didn’t see your message and – yeah,” the words stumble out of Harry’s mouth like they aren’t his. 

“It’s okay,” Harry can hear the smile in Louis’ voice, “’m glad you called either way. I just wanted to say thank you. For staying with me until my mum got there, even though you didn’t have to. I heard about you making sure I got the proper tests from a nurse, so thanks for that, too. And for believing in me when everyone thought it was drugs. I have to thank you for a lot of things, I guess” Louis says. 

Harry nervously plays with the hem of his sweatshirt, “You don’t have to. You would have done the same for me.” He pauses shortly, trying not to feel the bittersweet pain in his heart. Because it seems like Louis is still the same, but so, so different. Then, he asks, “How are you feeling?” 

“Good, I think. Still can’t believe I passed out during my own fucking concert,” Louis scoffs.

It feels surreal to talk to Louis like this, after such a long time, like nothing happened. When, in fact, both their lives turned around completely, even if they don’t want to acknowledge it. 

“You should be glad it didn’t happen when you were home alone,” Harry can’t stop himself from saying that. It’s true, though, if – for any reason at all – he didn’t go to the hospital, the consequences would have been far more drastic than a few days in a hospital. 

“I guess so. Anyway. I just wanted to ask if you, I don’t know, want to meet up sometime? To talk?” Louis asks shyly. 

“Yeah,” Harry replies softly, without the slightest hesitation, “That’d be great.” 

No matter how hard he tried to forget about Louis in the past, no matter how hard he fights back whenever Liam mentions talking to Louis, no matter how losing Louis hurt, he can’t say no. There’s no way, not with Louis at the other end of the line. Louis, whom he missed so much that there were nights where Harry wouldn’t sleep at all. Maybe he’s being a hypocrite. He couldn’t care less. 

“Okay,” Louis says. Someone in the background starts talking, and Harry hears Louis chuckle slightly. “That was Zayn, I gotta go. But I’ll text you, yeah?” Louis adds after a short pause. 

It takes everything in Harry not to google _‘Louis Tomlinson and Zayn’_ after they hang up. It wouldn’t be fair. In addition to that, Harry is very aware of how much shit tabloids will publish in order to sell a story, and he doesn’t want to go down that road.

So he just sits there, staring at the phone in front of him. How is this really happening? 

*** 

“Are you telling me you’re finally listening to me?” Liam asks incredulously. 

He and Harry are sitting in the breakroom. It’s a slow night without a lot of patients, which means they can take their break together. 

“’m not sure if it was the right decision to says yes,” Harry sighs, pushing his cup of tea around, “but I couldn’t say no, either. I’d hate myself for not at least trying” 

“It’ll do you good to see him, Harry. The last time you did he was halfway on his way out of this world,” Liam replies and chuckles. 

Harry hits him in the stomach with his elbow, “You can’t just _say_ that, Liam!”  
“Sorry. But honestly, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” 

“I don’t know. I want him to be the same he was two years ago, but I also hope that he changed. That he’s happier, more content with his life,” he sighs, “And I’m terrified of – the future, I guess. The two outcomes of this are that we manage to be friends, the other that we don’t, and I lose him again.” 

Liam blinks at him for a second, and then says, “You need to give yourself more credit, H. No matter what happens, you’ve got your friends and family, and you survived your breakup the first time. Shit, you stopped talking to someone who was a constant in your life since the beginning of time, and you just kept going. You don’t need him, or anyone, you’re managing perfectly fine right now.” 

“It’s scary to not know what’s going to happen. As unpredictable and chaotic Louis has always been, it feels odd not to know where we’re at,” he explains. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach wells up again. 

“Welcome to the real world, that’s how most of us felt with our first relationships. Not all of us got to fall in love with our childhood best friend,” Liam snorts, patting Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry rolls his eyes at him, “Speaking of love, how did your date go? You never told me.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause I was busy therapizing you,” he scoffs with no real malice behind it, “It was okay, but we didn’t really hit it off”

Harry gets up and evens out the wrinkles of his scrubs, “No second date, then?” 

“’Don’t think so. She was nice and all, but not girlfriend material, at least not for me,” Liam says, shrugging. 

“You could always go out with that intern from radiology, she’s been making eyes at you for weeks now,” he suggests as they leave the break room together. 

“I saw her in the cafeteria yesterday, and she chewed with her mouth open. Sorry, but that’s a deal breaker for me,” he chuckles, and Harry bumps his shoulder into Liam’s. 

***

“Shit, shit, shit,” Harry mutters under his breath while cleaning up his flat. It’s not particularly messy, but there are some unwashed cups in the kitchen sink and a laundry basket full of unfolded sweaters and pats on the sofa. The thing is, he’s trying to make it look like he did not just tidy the entire apartment. 

Louis is supposed to come over in twenty minutes, and Harry feels like going insane. Somehow, his apartment looks _wrong_ , and it gets worse the longer he stares at it. 

Originally, he had suggested that they’d meet up at a café, some sort of neutral ground, but Louis killed that idea with a single text. Apparently, it’s hard for him on some days to go out in public without being recognized. When they broke up, it wasn’t like that just yet. Sure, Louis would get asked for pictures from time to time, but that happened maybe twice a month. Over the last year, he’d gained a lot of fans and it made Harry’s heart twist to think about how he missed that new stage of success.

So, no cafes. When he offered his own apartment, he didn’t think that it would make him even more nervous. Now, he’s wiping dust and scuffing up the pillows to make them look perfectly messy like Louis even cares about that stuff. At least he didn’t use to. 

There has always been something about Louis that made Harry want to impress him. And it doesn’t seem like he’s able to stop doing that.

A quick glance at the mirror tells him that he looks like a mess. His hair needs a trim, but between shifts at the hospital and trying to have a social life, he didn’t quite get around to making an appointment to get it cut, so now his curls are showing again, bouncing their way out of everything that could be deemed as ‘styled’. His black jeans have a stain from the bleach he used to remove a stain from his sofa earlier, and his floral shirt is crinkled. Great conditions to meet your ex-boyfriend for the first time in two years. 

As if he heard Harry’s thoughts, the doorbell chimes a second later. Harry groans, sends Liam a quick _pray for me_ text and wipes his now sweaty palms on his trousers before he opens the door. 

Not to be dramatic, but Harry feels like his heart stops right then and there when he sees Louis standing in front of his door. He’s wearing washed-out denim jeans with cuts at the knees, white sneakers and a short-sleeved shirt in the same color with a black zippy-sweater on top of it, and he’s carrying two paper cups with plastic lids in his hands. 

“Hi,” Harry manages to grit out as he tries not to stare too much. He looks healthy again, the dark circles under his eyes gone. “Come in.” 

“Hi, ‘s nice to see you,” Louis says, “I brought you coffee.” 

They awkwardly look at each other until Harry forces himself to get his shit together and gestures to the living room. 

“Thanks.” 

“Shit, your place is huge. I kind of expected it to be smaller, with med school an all,” Louis says. Harry doesn’t miss the way he scans the walls and furniture and pictures with his eyes. 

“The NHS had a project last year where undergraduates could get involved with different charities and laid off of their debt, and I did that. Plus, now that I actually have a paying job rather than just an internship it’s all working out pretty well,” Harry explains, twisting the ring on his finger around as he talks. 

“Wait, you already graduated?” Louis asks, mouth a little agape. 

“Uh, no, not really. I’m on the last practical sector and there are supervisors that, you know, keep an eye on me so I don’t mess up. I graduate in three months and then go into training. I already got a contract with the hospital, though, so that’s why I get paid actual wages,” he says as he settles into the conversation. This isn’t as hard as he thought it would be. In fact, he needs to stop himself from rambling on, because there are suddenly so many things on his mind that he feels the need to tell him. 

Louis’ face lights up at that, relieved, “I can’t believe you’re almost done, that’s insane.” 

_I’m proud of you_ , is what he really wants to say, Harry can see it in his eyes. It’s enough, he doesn’t need to hear it, it’s enough to know. 

“Yeah, time really flew by” 

They’re quiet after that for a while, until Harry remembers something, “Did they ever figure out what caused your sugar levels to drop that far?” 

Louis fidgets with a loose thread of this jeans and doesn’t look at Harry as he talks, “There’s this one kind of medication to help with anxiety on stage, I forgot what it’s called” 

“Beta-blockers?” Harry asks in disbeliefs, “Louis, I told you not to take them, like, years ago.” 

“I know, I know. I swear to God, I’ll never take them again,” Louis groans, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m really sorry” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, you don’t owe me anything, Louis. I’m just looking out for you, that’s all,” he replies and pushes a loose curl back in its place. 

“It’s just – you told me, and I didn’t listen and then I suffered the consequences. And you had to witness that, and I’m sorry” 

“Don’t, alright? You’re okay now, aren’t you?” 

Louis looks at Harry for a moment too long, making his heart skip a beat and his stomach churn when their eyes lock, and Louis exhales audibly, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” 

For a moment, silence fills his living room. Harry’s still trying to take all of this in, Louis sitting right across from him all this time, healthy and happy. 

“I was really scared, you know. That – that you took something,” he says after a while. 

“You know I’d never,” Louis replies quietly. 

Harry shrugs, “Two years ago I knew, but two weeks ago? I was – I don’t know, hoping, praying, guessing. If it would have been anyone else, I would have done the same thing as Header wanted to.” 

“But you didn’t, Harry, and the next time you have a case like that, you’ll remember this and won’t make the same mistake. You’re still learning,” he says. 

The outer corners of his mouth tug upwards, and Harry wonders how Louis is always able to find the right words to comfort him. Even after years of not talking to each other, his voice and his words are so comforting to him, Harry immediately starts to question how he ever survived without him. It’s scary, because this is the first time they’re seeing each other again and he already feels so attached again. 

“I guess so,” he says and shrugs his thoughts off, “Thank you” 

“I’m the one who has to thank you, actually,” Louis jumps in, “For believing in me, and for staying with me while my mum was on her way. And for calling her in the first place, that must have been a horrible call to make. Zayn told me he called her, too, but she was already on her way by then.” 

_Zayn._ Harry thinks of the guy with jet black hair that escorted Louis to the car and feels the jealousy welling up in his stomach once again. He hates himself for it, he lost the right to that feeling the second he left Louis’ and his old apartment. 

“Zayn?” He asks, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible. 

“My best mate. He’s been on tour with me for the past few weeks and worked on the last album,” Louis explains, and Harry is embarrassed to admit he feels sort of relieved. 

“Oh. That’s cool,” he says, nodding along. 

Louis snorts and pushes Harry’s leg off the sofa with his socked foot, “You’re full of shit, you know that, Styles?” 

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” Harry laughs, dragging Louis off the couch with him as he grabs him around the ankle. 

For a moment, it’s as if nothing ever happened. They’re on the rug, laughing their asses off while trying to kick the other person in the shins, and it’s easy to pretend they’re sixteen again and bickering in Anne’s living room over who gets control over the remote. 

“We’ve got a lot to catch up on, huh?” Harry says when he breathlessly leans back, finally catching his breath again. 

*** 

“So, what? You’re all good now, like nothing ever happened?” Molly asks and drags her fry through a puddle of ketchup.

“We’re talking again, if that’s what you’re asking,” Harry replies. In fact, there are two texts from Louis on his phone right now, both pictures of Louis’ dog, Clifford.

He turns from Molly to watch the people around him. There’s a queue in front of the bar, and even though it’s pretty early in the evening, some people are already doing shots while others just get pints of beer for their friends. 

“I mean, no. You are exes, isn’t it supposed to be awkward between you?” She presses. 

Someone at the table next to them knocks over a glass and their startled yelps and hectic movements mix with the general chatter inside of the pub. It’s a Friday night which means it’s pretty crowded. Molly convinced him to ditch his mates for her so that they could talk about ‘all things Louis’ as she put it. 

“It was a little in the beginning. But Louis has seen me pee my pants when I was three, so I guess there’s not a lot that could make things awkward between us,” he shrugs. 

“Harry, that’s not the same. From what I know, you went through a very painful breakup and now you’re – I don’t know, I just don’t get it,” she explains through a mouth full of chips. 

“Me neither, to be honest. I guess we’re used to each other,” he says, taking a bite of his food. 

“I’m sorry to ask, but if you are like that – then why did you break up in the first place?” 

Harry falters at that, the bad memories flushing his brain like a tsunami. Yelling at each other at two in the morning, tears and frustration clouding the blue of Louis’ eyes. The left side of the bed empty all night because Louis is on tour or working, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and doubts. Harry going to bed after a long night of studying with no Louis there to calm his nerves. 

He clears his throat, “There wasn’t one reason why we didn’t work anymore. Over the course of maybe a year, things started to fall apart, and I think we were both too scared to do anything about it. Which was the downfall, really.” 

“How does that even happen?” Molly asks, resting her hand on top of Harry’s. 

“Louis’ dream was always signing, and as happy as achieving that dream made him as well as me, it changed things. After a few years, the novelty and excitement wore off, and, I guess, he just wasn’t as happy anymore. I moved to London and in with him after graduating and went to med school here instead of in Manchester as I planned to, because I wanted to be with him. He wasn’t home a lot, always on tour or in the studio. I think he started feeling guilty about that, because I gave up Manchester for him and he didn’t even have time for us,” he says, fidgeting with a paper napkin. Talking about this, reliving it, never gets easier. 

“The distance was a problem, of course. But another thing was that his management didn’t let him come out, and it frustrated him. Over time, his ‘celebrity’ personality started to mix with real life, and it was just an entire mess. In the end, neither of us could handle it. We were both unhappy, frustrated and distant, so that was the end. I packed my things, moved out and crashed on Liam’s couch for two months until I got a job,” he finishes, his voice a little raspy from talking too much. 

“Shit,” Molly breathes, “and you never told me. That’s insane, H. Why do you not talk about this?” 

“I’ve come to the realization that, with how things are and were, a breakup was inevitable. We couldn’t have make it work, and talking won’t change things,” Harry sighs, “And I guess I’m just happy now that I got him back in my life.” 

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffs, making Harry frown at her. “H, I love you, and I don’t know everything that went down with you and Louis, but,” she looks him directly in the eyes, “I think you’re using this as an excuse, so you don’t have to face your true feelings.” 

Harry snorts, “I’m the one that lives with these feelings of regret and the want to turn back time, Molly. But I can’t and as much as it felt and still feels like I’m missing a limb without Louis in my life, it’s for the better. In the end, we just dragged each other down until we almost drowned.” 

“I’m just saying. As you said, it’s been two years, and you need to do something to find closure and leave at least that part of him behind you. No matter how much it hurts,” she says, looking at Harry. 

“I don’t want to risk it, Molls. We _just_ started talking again and bringing any of that up right now wouldn’t – it would probably make him run,” he sighs again. 

“You think so?” She asks curiously. 

“’We’ll talk about it eventually, but not right now,” he says and ruffles through his hair. Talking about Louis and their past is getting exhausting, especially when he finally feels okay again, feels like he can live or without him, but has a chance to have him in his life. 

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? ‘M not feeling like it,” he offers after that. He’s more in the mood for blowing his brain out with enough tequila to make his head hurt for the next two days. 

“I get it. Thank you for telling me, though,” Molly smiles at him so Molly-like, it makes Harry’s heart hurt. She radiates warmth and happiness, and she’s always so kind, it’s hard to believe that he actually deserves a friend like her. 

“You up for a round of shots?” He asks her, wiggling his eyebrows in a way he knows will send her into fits of laughter. 

“Oh, so you wanna get _drunk_ drunk,” she giggles, trying to mimic Harry’s expression, “I’m in” 

*** 

As the weeks go by, Harry and Louis start talking regularly again. It’s mostly over text – apart from two very awkward phone calls – and they just send each other random messages throughout the day about what they’re doing or when something funny happened. 

Getting used to having him in his life again is way too easy and goes over way to smoothly. Bevor Harry knows any better, he’s texting Louis during every break and finds himself laughing over his sassy replies. When he mocks Harry for eating avocado on toast, for example. 

He tells himself not to dwell on things, not to overthink their newfound friendship and to let their relationship develop naturally, but Harry couldn’t deny the anxious and worrisome feelings he experiences when he stops hustling for once. When everything is calm and quiet, it’s much harder to ignore your thoughts. 

The fact that they haven’t seen each other since the day at Harry’s apartment isn’t making it easier. From time to time, he asks himself whether he just imagined feeling close to Louis again because part of him was craving it for two years. 

Harry’s phone starts vibrating in his back pocket when he’s hanging out with Molly, Liam and one of Molly’s friends, Phoebe, at his apartment. They all had a particularly hard day at the hospital – Molly blames it on Header, who is chief of the Emergency Room, divorcing his second wife right now. He’s been in a foul mood for the last two weeks, and today he made all of the nurses take double shifts and the interns were only allowed to handle flus and rashes. 

On the screen, Louis name shows up, making Harry’s heart stumble a little. 

“Hi?” He asks into the speaker and turns away from his friends that are sprawled out over the couch. 

“I cut my finger and it’s bleeding a shit ton of a lot. What do I do?” Louis asks in a hectic tone. 

“How deep is it?” He asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“Well, Harold, I _don’t know_ , there’s too much fucking blood,” he snaps back, and Harry has to bite his lips to prevent himself from laughing. Louis is a drama queen, and in addition to that, he can’t stand the sight of blood. 

“Alright, alright. Just put a clean towel on it and apply a little pressure, call a taxi and I’ll take a look at it,” Harry sighs. There goes a relaxes evening with his friends. By now, they are all looking at him curiously. 

“You want me to come over so you can put a band-aid on my cut?” Louis snorts. 

“Are you trying to convince me that _you_ are going to put a band-aid on your cut? Louis, last time I checked you throw up at the mere sight of blood,” he says mockingly and rolls his eyes. Liam’s and Molly’s eyebrows are jumping upwards simultaneously at the mention of Louis’ name. Harry ignores them. 

Louis mutters something completely inaudible which Harry guesses means that he’s coming over. Harry laughs slightly, “See you. Try not to faint on your way to the car” 

“I hate you, Styles,” he replies in a cold tone. 

“Feeling is mutual,” Harry says and then hangs up. 

“What was that about?” Molly asks, not able to hold herself back. 

“Louis cut himself and is too much of a wimp to even look at it. He can’t stand the sight of blood,” Harry explains. 

Liam snorts, “Sounds like him. Such a drama queen.” 

Molly turns to look at him, while Phoebe now looks completely lost. 

“You know him?” Molly asks. To Phoebe she says, “Harry’s ex. They broke up two years ago, he never told me about him but they’re talking again as o now.” 

“Yeah,” Liam nods, “I met Harry when they were still together, so. I’ve spent a lot of time with the both of them together.” 

It’s true. Harry remembers pub nights and attending Louis’ concerts together, hanging out after the show with Louis while he was still high on adrenaline. 

Harry leans back and listens to them gossip about his past relationship like he’s not sitting right next to Molly. He doesn’t mind, though, it’s nothing he’s never heard before. Plus, he’d probably do the same if roles were reversed. 

Eventually, the doorbell rings, and he scrambles to his feet to open the door. 

“Your tip with the towel sucks, H. I have to throw this one away now,” Louis complains instead of saying hello like a normal person would. 

“I think your bank account can handle buying a new kitchen towel,” Harry snorts and guides Louis to the kitchen, where he keeps his first aid kid. 

“Hello, Louis,” Molly chirps in a ridiculously high voice when they pass the living room, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“I didn’t know you had friends over, I’m sorry,” Louis says, offering a small wave for the people inhabiting Harry’s living room. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry. And ignore Molly, she’s a gremlin,” he replies. 

“I heard that!” She calls from the living room and Harry flips her off without turning back. 

“So you’re still friends with Liam?” Louis asks and hops onto the kitchen counter, watching as Harry gets the first aid kit from a drawer. The picture is all too familiar. Sitting on the kitchen counter while Harry cooked was always the thing Louis did, every single night in their old apartment. 

He shakes the memory off and takes off the towel pressed to Louis’ left finger, making him inhale sharply. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles. 

The cut underneath is deep, gaping open slightly, but he has seen worse. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Louis says, making a point of looking everywhere but down at his own hands. 

“He’s sitting on my sofa, so, yes, we’re still friends,” he replies as he looks through the bag for the right band-aids. “The cut isn’t too deep, you should be fine without stitches,” he adds. 

“Shit, were you going to stitch me up right here in your kitchen?” He asks, tone so close to hysteric it makes Harry laugh. 

“I could have,” he replies, taking Louis’ hand in his, “I’ll just clean and disinfect this now, alright? It might sting a little.” 

Harry would love to say that Louis handled it like the mature twenty-six-year-old he’s supposed to be, but the truth is that he cursed the entire time, from rinsing the wound to the disinfectant. 

“Almost done. Just let me get the strips,” he mutters. 

“Strips?” Louis asks the same time Molly walks in. Louis’ gaze follows her to the fridge, where she bends over and looks through it content. 

“Harold, how come you don’t have any ice cream but three packs of frozen peas?” She asks, twirling around to them. 

“There should be Ben and Jerry’s in the top drawer of the freezer,” Harry replies. To Louis, he says, “Adhesive wound closure strips. They sort of work like stitches and pull the wound together.” 

“Gross. Don’t tell me more, I don’t even want to know,” Louis says, turning his head away once again. 

“Found it!” Molly exclaims, and throws a short look at Louis, snorting, “I’ll leave you two it, then” 

It’s silent in the kitchen while Harry applies the wound strips. From the living room he can hear the distant chatter of his friends and on the streets passing his apartment complex, he can hear the cars passing, but apart from that, it’s quiet. 

“She calls you Harold,” Louis says quietly when Harry turns away to put the wrapping in the trash. 

“Yeah,” he says, failing to think of something to say to that. Because Molly does, and the first time she did, he was a little taken aback, but after a year of being friends with her, he’s gotten used to it and never thinks about it twice. 

“That’s my – I used to call you that,” he admits, looking down at the tiled kitchen floor. 

“You did,” Harry confirms, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Where is this going? 

“I guess it’s weird hearing someone else saying it. It’s dumb, I know,” Louis fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater, “But even back home I was the only one who called you Harold. Not even Niall did” 

Niall. Harry hasn’t talked to him in months. After their breakup, Harry distanced himself from a lot of things that reminded him of Louis, and that seemed to include Niall. But they have been friends since elementary school, so he probably should give him a call someday. 

“It was weird for me, at first, too. But, you know, I didn’t want to say anything and now I’m used to it. She’s pretty much my best friend, beside Liam.” 

Louis lets out a huffed breath. 

“What?” Harry asks and turns to look at him. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just – I never wanted to think about – I don’t even know. You moving on, I guess, and living your life without me. And now – look at you, Harry. You’re almost done with med school, and you’ve got great friends and you’re _happy_ and it’s hard for me to accept that I missed all of that,” he rambles on and Harry can tell he’s looking for words as he speaks. “I know it’s selfish, but I can’t help it,” he shrugs. 

“It’s not,” he softly shakes his head, “We spent our entire lives together, Lou. In my head, you’re the same you were the two years ago because I’m trying to hold on to what we had, but it’s foolish to expect us to be the same and not have built a new life without the other.” 

Louis’ eyes are trained on Harry as he talks, and he himself watches Louis’ face closely. He can’t quite believe how much he changed, how different he is, and how he still seems the same. 

“Let’s not do that anymore. I’m not asking you to forget what happened, or anything, but I want us to be friends, and I want us to be okay again and talking, if that’s not too much to ask” 

“I think I want that. Have you around again, I mean,” Harry replies and watches as a small smile appears on Louis’ face. Maybe they can be okay after all. 

*** 

“You can’t put my songs on while I’m driving,” Louis says and hits the volume control hard enough to cut the music off. 

“But I want to,” Harry whines. A deathly glare directed in his direction is enough to shut him up, though, and he scrolls through his spotify for a few minutes while Louis drives on in silence. 

They’re on their way back home together for the first time in what feels like ages. Anne is hosting her annual spring-barbecue that weekend, and she demanded Harry to take off time from work this year which is why he’s sitting on the passenger’s seat in Louis’ range rover right now, arguing with him over the music. 

“Okay,” he finally says, pressing play, “If you complain about this one, we’re going to listen BBC New.” 

The opening chords of _Do I Wanna Know?_ boom through the speaker unit of the car, and Harry watches as Louis’ head bops contently along to the bassline of the song. 

“Excellent choice,” he agrees, turning the volume up again. 

It takes exactly ten minutes for Harry to fall asleep. He just got off a twelve-hour night shift and only went home to shower and get his bag before Louis picked him off, and he’s downright exhausted. 

By the time he wakes up again, he’s alone in the car and covered by a sweatshirt that smells a lot like Louis. He’s tempted to indulge in that smell and let it lull him back into sleep when he spots Louis leaving the gas station, two plastic cups in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

He watches him as he throws the cheroot to the ground, twisting out the spark with the ball of his foot. 

“Oh, you’re up again. I brought you a cuppa,” Louis says upon opening the door and realizing that Harry is awake and hands him one of the plastic cups. 

“Thanks,” he croaks, voice still hoarse from not sleeping enough. 

“Do you have a cold?” Louis asks with a frown on his face as he buckles his seatbelt and starts the engine. Within the next minute, they’re back on the motorway, the shrubbery on the roadside blurring into a belt of greens and browns. 

He shakes his head no, “’Just had a rough night” 

“Wait, you were working a nightshift? You could’ve told me and we would have left a little later,” he says, looking quickly at Harry. 

“It’s alright. By the time we’ll get to Holmes Chapel it’s going to almost noon and we have to go back tomorrow night, I didn’t want us to waste any time. If I’m too tired, I’ll just take a nap after lunch or something”

Louis stifles a laugh, “You really think your mother is going to let you take a nap? She probably already has a thousand-item to-do list for you. Starting with cleaning the grill and ending with fixing the drippy tap in the guest bathroom.” 

“Ugh, you’re right. Let’s just turn around and go back to London,” Harry groans and buries his face in the sweater that’s still wrapped around him. It smells like cigarettes and cologne. 

“No chance, I’m not missing out on your mum’s potato salad,” he laughs. Their eyes lock when Harry turns to him, and a feeling of calmness settles in his stomach. 

“I’m glad we’re going together,” he says, balling up the sweater with his hands. 

“Yeah. It was weird without you last year,” Louis says, nodding. 

Which – okay. Harry had suspected that Louis went home last spring while he had to work, but it never was confirmed by anyone. It’s not like either of them has a prerogative on their hometown and family events, but it feels weird either way to know that Louis went to _his_ mother’s barbecue when he didn’t. 

Louis turns the signal and they leave the motorway, following the dwindling streets that eventually lead to the town they grew up in together. 

Harry’s phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he twists awkwardly in his seat to get it. It’s a text from his sister. 

“Gemma just messaged me, everyone is at my mum’s house,” he tells Louis after reading the message. 

“Tell her we’ll be there in about five minutes,” Louis says, taking a left. 

“Guess what, I’ve been here before, Tommo. I know how long it takes to get to my house,” Harry argues and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t really mean it. 

They bicker for the rest of the car ride and it ends with Louis putting the car in park and flipping Harry off as he gets out of the car. 

He lets out a defeated laughs and watches as Louis walks around the car to get to the trunk. Clifford, the dog Louis adopted a year ago, barks loudly when Louis lets him out. Harry gathers his things, mainly his phone, a charger, the teacup and Louis’ sweatshirt, and follows him to the front door of his childhood home. 

“Louis! Harry didn’t tell me you were coming together, what a lovely surprise!” Anne greets them at the door and hurries them inside. 

“In my defense, I told Gemma,” Harry chimes in and hugs his mother, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Well, she didn’t say anything,” Anne says, hugging her son back, “You look tired, dear” 

“It’s nothing, just work,” he waves her off, earning a doubtful look from Louis. He rolls his eyes at him, shaking his head slightly. His mother doesn’t need to know that he’s running on a two-hour long nap, it would only make her feel bad for telling him to come. 

“Okay, well, come in, you two. Louis, you _have_ to tell me about your tour, how was it?” Anne grabs him by the elbow and drags him into the kitchen with her and Harry follows them with a smile on his face. 

“It’s on hold right now, but I’ll finish the UK leg next month. It was great, though,” Louis starts talking while simultaneously helping Anne with the dishes. 

“Harry, can you help me with the cushions? And you need to clean the grill, please,” Gemma comes into the kitchen, balancing the cushions for the garden furniture in her hands. 

Louis turns to him, all mischievous smile and bright eyed, “I told you!”

“Shut up,” Harry groans, but follows her sister through the screen doors into the garden. 

“So, tell me, little brother. Are you back together?” She asks as soon as they are out of earshot from the crowd in the kitchen. 

“No, we’re not,” he replies, taking the cushions from her and starts putting them on benches and chairs. 

Gemma looks at him with raised eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. 

“Look, Gem, it’s complicated right now. We’re trying to be friends and so far, it’s working out well enough,” he stops and sighs. 

“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all. You were a mess when you broke up, and I don’t want you to go through that again,” she says.

“That’s nice, but there’s no need for that. I’m not planning on getting back together with him. There’s too much history and our track record isn’t exactly perfect. We didn’t work out two years ago, it’d be stupid to assume we would now,” he explains. They’re done with the cushions now, and Harry moves over to the barbecue station. 

Gemma sighs and she has that look on her face. It’s very specific, and for his entire life, it has meant something along the lines of _oh-no-Harry_. 

“ _What?_ ” He asks her. 

“Nothing. Just watch out for your heart, little brother,” she says and ruffles through his hair. 

“I’m twenty-four, you could stop calling me that by now,” he yells after her as Gemma heads back inside, but she only turns around halfway and shrugs with a wide grin on her face. 

Oh, the bliss of older siblings. 

*** 

“I was looking for you,” Louis greets Harry and sits down beside him on the swing seat. The hinges screech a little upon the additional weight. This swing has been in the back of Harry’s garden for as long as he can remember, and he has the suspicion he’s the only person to ever use it anymore. 

He twists the cold bottle of beer around, “Robin relieved me of my barbecue-handling duties twenty minutes ago.” 

Louis laughs at that and pulls one knee up to his chest, hugging it. Everyone else is sitting around the tables or on the grass where the small bonfire is illuminating the garden and Harry watches as his mother teeters Ernest, Louis’ little brother, on her lap while she talks to Gemma. 

“Nothing like being home, huh?” He asks, following Harry’s gaze. 

“Yeah, ‘s nice seeing everyone together,” he nods. 

“No matter what happens around the world, this place always stays the same,” he says. There’s a pause as Harry thinks about it. It’s true. While the both of them went through their breakup and heartbreak, it seemed like nothing changed in Holmes Chapel. Jay and Anne stayed best friends, Gemma enjoys torturing Harry as much as she did at the age of twelve and Niall – whom Harry saw today for the first time in a year – still cackles at every joke and masters the art of playing the perfect campfire songs on his guitar. 

“It’s comforting, isn’t it?” He asks Louis, turning to see his face. It’s dark where they’re sitting, so he can only make out the vague shape of it, but he can tell that he’s smiling anyway. 

“Always feels like home,” he says in agreement. “This swing does too,” he adds a second later. 

Harry’s mouth falls a little open and he raises his eyebrows. Why would Louis bring that up now? When they’re in a good place for the first time in years? 

_Harry is sixteen. He can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and nerves, but he likes to blame it on the heat of late July. Louis frowns and reaches for his hand, “You can tell me everything, you know that.”_

_“Remember when you, you know, told me you were gay last year?” He asks shyly, not daring to look him in the eyes. Instead, he focuses on the bark of the birch behind Louis’ head. There’s a soft breeze of wind that causes the swing to move a little._

_“Yeah. What about it?”_

_“I – I think I’m gay too?” It comes out small, like a question, and Harry hates it. Because he knows, he’s sure of it and he knows he doesn’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed of anything, but it’s not as easy as he’d hoped it would be. Because this is Louis, after all, but somehow it just makes it harder._

_“Oh. Well, that’s okay,” he says, smiling at him, “Have you told anyone else?”_

_“No,” he admits. His mother probably knows, Anne knows everything, no matter how hard Harry tries to hide something from her._

_“Is there someone you like?” Louis digs, wriggling his eyebrows, and Harry kicks him in the shins._

_“It’s a no, then?”_

_“I mean, no, I guess,” he stutters while trying to stop the words coming out of his mouth. He can’t tell Louis. He can’t risk losing him as his best friend._

_“Oh, come on, Harold! You can tell me, I’m good at keeping secrets. Remember when I had a crush on Jack Gibbins? That was embarrassing, too, but I told you anyway,” he says, nudging Harry with his shoulder._

_Harry sighs defeatedly, “There’s this boy, okay? And I_ think _I like him, but I can’t be sure. And I can’t_ make _sure, because I’m friends with him and I’d rather be friends with him than lose him.”_

_“If he’s a nice person, you’re not risking your friendship by telling him. And if he’s not, I’ll make sure to kick his ass.”_

_Harry laughs at the irony of Louis’ words and shakes his head. “’s not like you can kick your own ass,” he mutters under his breath, hoping it would escape Louis’ ears._

_“What?” He asks incredulously, head snapping toward Harry._

_“I’m sorry, just forget what I said. Please, Lou, it doesn’t matter! Just forget it, okay?” Harry says, panicked. This can’t be real, this can’t be happening to him._

_“No, stop. Harry, stop. Say it again” he demands, eyes following every single move he makes._

_“It’s not like you can kick your own ass,” he repeats, slowly._

_“Shit,” Louis breathes. Harry just looks at him wide eyed, not quite understanding what is happening._

_“Shit?” He asks._

_“I mean, no. I don’t think I have to kick my own ass,” he says._

_“You’re confusing me, Louis. What are you talking about?” Harry asks, by now on the verge of being upset. This couldn’t have gone any worse._

_Louis closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “Harry. I’m trying to tell you that I like you, too.”_

_“Wait, you do?”_

_“Are you really that dull?”_

_“I mean, I guess so. I just didn’t think – I thought you would-“ Harry splutters and runs a hand through his hair. Louis interrupts him, “Jesus, Harry, can you shut up for one second?”_

_And he does. He shuts his mouth and blinks at Louis, who just rolls his eyes, “You are unbelievable.”_

_And then he kisses him. It’s Harry’s first kiss, so he hasn’t got anything to compare it to, but he’d say it’s pretty fucking great._

_At first, their chins and noses bump together a little, but then it’s soft and sweet and Louis’ hands are cupping his cheeks and Harry’s brain stops working. He thinks he might want to do this for the rest of his life._

“We grew up here after all,” Harry says, ignoring the memories welling up inside of him. He knows Louis’ is thinking the same thing. He swallows and gets up, “’m gonna get another one,” he points to the bottle in his hands, “want one?” 

Louis shakes his head no, deflated, and even though it makes his heart twist, he walks over to where their families and friends are sitting, eating and chatting. 

He makes his way through his mother’s friends that are sitting on the grass, wrapped in blankets and listen to Niall play the guitar. When he reaches his mother, he hugs her from behind and lets his chin rest on her shoulder. 

“Missed you, ma,” he whispers, and she tilts her head, so their heads are resting on one another. “Missed you, too,” she replies with a smile in her voice. 

“Are you and Louis alright?” She asks a moment later, twisting around to take a look at her son. 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, “I’m hoping we’re getting there. But it’s hard.” 

“I know it is, honey. I love Louis like my own son, but if it’s too much to handle – you gotta take care of yourself first, okay?” 

“I promise I will. Thank you, mum” 

“Always,” she squeezes his arm, and Harry turns away and goes to the cooler set up on the patio to get the beer he came for. Well, he was also kind of running away from Louis, but no one has to know. 

*** 

Louis and Harry are both incredibly good at not-talking about their problems, and because of that, the conversation they had on the swing seat never comes up again. Not the next day, not on the car ride back to London, not for the next few weeks. 

It doesn’t come up when Louis hands him two tickets for his show in London three weeks later, telling him that it would make him happy to have Harry there. 

And, of course, Harry goes, because this is Louis and there are little things he could ever deny him, not when he’s being so honest and sincere. Harry’s also missed going to his concerts, so it’s pretty much a no-brainer as well as the decision to take Liam with him. 

It’s almost like old times, watching Louis from the VIP-box all the way up the standing sections with an ocean of mobile phone flashlights underneath them. 

Louis is halfway through the set and Harry is pretty close to tearing up. He wonders how Louis does it. Because it’s been two years, and he obviously performs his old songs that Harry watched him write, some of them about him, and he can’t stand the way it makes him feel and he can’t stand how Louis looks like it doesn’t affect him. 

The worst one is _You & I_ because he remembers how he woke up once in the middle of the night to an empty bed after they had a fight. He eventually found Louis sitting in front of the piano in their dark living room, wearing nothing but his underwear and writing that song. Harry had kissed him on the bare shoulder and whispered apologies and fell asleep on the couch, listening to Louis play the song over and over again, adjusting chords and lyrics here and there. They broke up two months after that. 

“Are you having a good time?” Louis asks into the microphone when he finishes the song, and not to be dramatic, but the crowd goes _ballistic_. A bright grin forms on Louis’ face, and he nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, yeah. Me too. I’m sorry I made you wait so long for this show. But I am definitely better now, and I’m back!” 

As the noise from the crowd grows louder once again, he turns around and grabs a bottle of water. 

Louis clicks the microphone back into its stand, clutching it in between his ends. 

“How would you feel if I performed a little cover for you today?” 

He pauses to let the crowd scream in excitement without interrupting his speech, and Harry is in awe of how natural he is on stage and of how he interacts so fluently with his fans. He’s always been a good performer, ever since they were little kids, but he improved a lot in the years Harry hasn’t seen him live. 

“Okay, so, this is actually a very special show for me personally,” Louis starts to introduce the next song, and looks up to the VIP balcony where Harry is standing, right next to Liam. His heart jumps a little. Again, there is a lot of high-pitched screaming. 

“Because there is someone really important to me in the crowd tonight, and it’s been a while since he’s attended any of my shows, so. This one’s for him,” Louis says and takes a step back from the mic. Liam squeezes Harry’s arm and he knows he’s looking at him, waiting for a reaction, but Harry can’t avert his eyes from Louis, who is looking right back at him. Of course, he can’t actually see him from the stage, but Harry imagines he can. 

The opening chords of the song start playing as Louis takes a sip from his bottle, “This is _You Won’t Feel A Thing_ by The Script” 

Louis’ voice is high and sweet and raspy and _perfect_ when he starts signing. 

“I’ve been kicked right down,  
I’ve been spat in the face,  
I’ve been pulled down, weighed down  
To the lowest place”

And Harry remembers. He remembers that day perfectly. 

_Harry is seventeen, and it’s hot and stuffy inside the arena, but in front of him, there’s his favorite band performing, and next to him, there’s Louis, pressed to his side, just as sweaty as he is._

_Louis is belting the lyrics to the song at the top of his lungs like everyone else. Harry can’t help but stare at him. His brown fringe is sticking to his forehead and his eyes are luminous._

_“I’ll stand in front, I’ll take the blow,” Louis basically yells, but this time, he turns to Harry, cupping his face with his own hands. “I’ll take the blow for you,” he repeats, quieter, and he can’t actually hear the words, but he can see them on Louis’ lips._

_Over the last few months, Harry has grown so much that, for the first time in fourteen years, he’s actually taller than Louis, even if it’s just a couple of centimeters. He’s still thinking about the fact that Louis has to make himself a little taller now to kiss Harry when their lips crash together. It’s an electric feeling. They’re kissing in the middle of the pit with their favorite song playing live on stage._

Harry shakes his head to get rid of the memories welling up and tries to focus on the stage again. 

“ _So lay your cuts and bruises over my skin  
I promise you won't feel a thing, no  
'Cause everything the world could throw  
I'll stand in front, I'll take the blow for you,  
For you_,” Louis sings on stage and Harry suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. 

This isn’t okay. They can’t just pretend they’re the same they were all those years ago, because they’re not. They can’t pretend that those lyrics still match their situation, because things couldn’t be any further from them. 

“I need to get out of here, Liam,” Harry says, gesturing frantically with his hands, “I can’t do this” 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“Shit, Liam, no. I’m not, of course I’m not! We need to leave,” he says in a panicked voice, throat closing up. 

“Harry, we can’t – “ 

“I don’t _fucking care_ ,” he manages to grit out between his teeth and grabs Liam’s arm, dragging him with him. 

*** 

Two hours later, Harry is sitting on his bed, staring at the white wall in front of him. He had to practically shake a very concerned Liam off at his front door with a promise to call him the next day and _talk_ , even though he does not have any actual plans to do so. 

He doesn’t even know what’s going on himself. There was something about listening to that song – _their song_ – sung by Louis that made him snap. He can’t pretend to be friend, to be okay, when he’s still hurting on the inside and still loves Louis more than he could ever put in words. 

His phone buzzes somewhere between the sheets and he reluctantly starts looking for it when the buzzing doesn’t seem to stop any time soon. 

“There was no emergency as the hospital, was there?” Louis asks him when he picks up. Harry frowns, “What?” 

“I thought so. Liam texted me,” he offers as an explanation. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Louis, I wasn’t – “ He starts, but he’s cut off by him, “Don’t even fucking start, I don’t want to hear a bullshit excuse.” 

“Okay,” he lets out a breath that sounds like a very pathetic whine, “I think we need to talk.” 

“I think so, too. I’m on my way to your place right now,” Louis says. 

“How long till you get here?” 

“Twenty seconds, maybe,” he replies. As Harry scrambles out of bed, the doorbell rings. Usually, he would make a snide comment about how unnecessary that was, but he’s way too worn down for that at the moment. 

“Why’d you leave?” Louis asks straight away, waltzing past Harry into the living room. 

“Hello to you too,” he mumbles as he follows him. Louder, he says, “Is that really a question you need to ask?” 

“Yes, Harry, because I don’t _fucking understand_! I thought we were finally in a somewhat stable place,” he says, voice flipping over. 

He sighs, “Louis. What are we doing here? Who are we trying to fool? We didn’t work in a relationship, and we’re not working as friends. But you were up there singing that song – like we’re still us when we’re not. I can’t handle it, I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

“I personally thought we were trying to be friends,” Louis snaps and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

“We were, but we’re just running away from the past. Can’t you see that?” He leans back in the chair across from where Louis is sitting, and it feels like they are oceans apart even though they are in the same room. It’s not the first time. 

“If anything, you’re running away from the present because you’re scared of the future, Harry.”

“Even if I were scared, so what? Louis, losing you nearly _killed me_ ,” Harry’s voice breaks halfway through the sentence, “Why would I ever want to go through that again?” 

“Do you think it was any different for me?” he asks, and Harry notices that there are tears shimmering in his eyes, “But I learned to live without you. Something I never thought possible, but I did it. It’s – After two years, Harry, _two years_ , I realize that I can live without you, but I just don’t want to.” 

When Harry looks at Louis, he sees the skin of his neck is reddening from rubbing it too much. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asks shakily, “Now, of all times?” 

“You are _everything_ I know. There’s a lot of stuff I only did for you, because of you, and I don’t want to do shit without you anymore. I’m sick of it. I only went to the XFactor because of you, and I only went on my first tour because I had that boy with curls and so much hope and happiness inside of him back home and I didn’t – I didn’t want to disappoint him,” he says and buries his face in his hands, shoulders starting to shake. 

It causes Harry’s heart to physically burn, as if someone was branding him with a fervid iron, because this reminds him so much of their situation two years ago, only somehow, it even hurts more. 

“Can’t you see that that’s right there is the problem? You’re an amazing artist and an even more talented singer, you should want to do things for yourself, not for me,” he says quietly. 

“Are you _trying_ to be as frustrating as you can be right now? Harry, the only thing I want is to have you back in my life, without being scared that you run at the first possibility. Any way I can have you. I don’t care if you – If you don’t love me anymore, or if you don’t want to be with me. It’s whatever, just don’t push me away.” 

How could Louis ever think that Harry stopped loving him? His heart is shattering into a million pieces, for himself and for Louis. 

“Why are you fighting for me – for us – now? Maybe even more than you did two years ago?” He asks instead of telling him how he really feels. There’s this wall between them, and Harry can’t seem to climb over it, no matter how much he wants to. This is the exact reason why they don’t, can’t and never will work. 

Louis’ shoulders slump, “Because. We’re the best thing I know” 

“No. We’re the _only_ thing you know. I don’t know how to make this clear for you. Louis, we were as toxic for each other as toxic gets. We were codependent, we weren’t happy at the end, we had communication issues. We both were too jealous for our own good. I was up all night studying and then went to school and then studied some more while you were working your ass off and flew around the world every two weeks,” he says, pulling at his hair. His lower lip is trembling, but he grits his teeth together to make it stop. 

“So, what? Everything about our relationship was utter bullshit and you hated being in it for six years?” Louis shouts and gets up. He starts to pace along the walls of Harry’s living room, breath uneven.

“You know that’s not true,” he replies quietly, looking down at his hands. 

“I don’t know, H, I don’t know, because right now it fucking seems like it! Do you just want to throw everything away we had?” 

“We threw that away a long time ago!” Harry jumps up as well now, following Louis up and down the rug. 

“Yes. Yes, we did,” he stops and turns, “And it was the worst mistake I ever made.” 

Harry swallows, staring at Louis. His hair is disheveled, and his shirt wrinkled, and he looks so lost when he reciprocates the look. 

“Tell me you don’t want any of this anymore, and I’ll leave. If you truly don’t love me anymore and don’t want to see me, you won’t ever have to,” he dares Harry, voice steady and confident for the first time all night. 

“Shit, Louis. You know that that’s not what is happening. We don’t work,” he drags his feet along the carpet, watching the pattern of it dishevel from the movement. 

“Is that what you tell yourself, so you don’t feel guilty?” Louis asks, almost mockingly, “Maybe we didn’t work two years ago. But we both grew up, Harry, we both realize what we had. I just want to have that again.”

“Maybe we changed, but the situation didn’t, and you know that. We’re both still workaholics, the distance will be the same. The pressure, too. You’re not out – not that I’m holding that against you – but we both know how much that frustrated you and maybe still does. Even if we make it work for a while, it will all fall apart as soon as the pressure gets us,” he says, trying not to pay attention to the flush that appears on Louis’ cheeks. 

“Geez, you really believe in us,” he grunts, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit, “It’s not the same and you know it.” 

“Then tell me Louis, fucking tell me, because I don’t see how we are supposed to be with each other without ruining us!” 

“Do you want a fucking list?” He yells exasperatedly. When Harry stays quiet, he groans. 

“I already said that, but we’re grown up now. We’re not holding on to something we had as teenagers, we know what’s at stake. We see our problems now, because they’re there but that doesn’t mean they’re unsolvable. I switched managements, I’m coming out. You’re graduating, there’s not so much pressure to excel at uni anymore,” he starts listing, counting every point on his hands. 

“Wait, you’re coming out?” He asks, taken aback. 

“In two months. We’re not the same we were two years ago, Harry, can’t you see that?” Louis takes a few steps toward him, only stopping when there’s not much space left between us. 

“I – I’m just so fucking scared, Lou,” Harry whispers, awkwardly aware of how uneven his breathing is. 

“You don’t have to be, okay?” He answers in the same volume and raises his hand to Harry’s neck where his thumbs caress his skin, soft and persistent, “It’s just me.” 

“I know. ‘Doesn’t make it easier,” he breathes, his eyes wandering over Louis’ face, trying to take everything in. His high cheekbones, his long lashes, his eyes so blue he feels like he could drown in them. Everything is so _Louis_ , it’s overwhelming. 

“We don’t have to do this, but I really, _really_ want to,” he says and his hand wanders from his neck to his face, fingers grazing along his jawline. 

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs and swallows, “Just – give me a little time to think.” 

Louis backs away quickly, eyes blinking wide and face crumbling, “What?” 

“I need time. This is a lot, and I want his, I want you, but – I’m still scared and lost, and that’s not how you do this,” he sighs, trying to express the thoughts racing one another inside of his brain. 

“Yeah,” Louis huffs and turns, starting to walk towards the front door, “Whatever. Give me a call or something in case you get your shit together.” 

The door closes with a loud thud behind him, and Harry stares at the spot in front of the door where Louis had been standing two seconds ago. 

Shit. 

*** 

“Harry, how did I earn the honor of having you call me?” Niall’s voice sounds through the speaker of his phone, and even though Harry knows he’s joking, he can’t shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. Niall is right, he talks to him way too infrequently. 

“Hi,” he greets him, feeling very small all of a sudden. 

“What’s up, mate?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course you can. Can’t promise I can help, though.”

Harry smiles at that, “Do you think Louis and I could ever work again?” 

He can hear Niall exhaling on the other end of the line, “Shit, that’s a loaded question. What’s going on?” 

“Just – We had a talk, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve been around him for the last two years, you probably know him better by now than I do. Do you think we could work?” He repeats himself and looks down at his hands clasped in his lap. 

“I mean,” Niall sighs, “I think it depends on you. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but he still loves you like he did when you broke up. He still writes a shit load of songs about you and acts like they are about someone else, but we all know they’re not, it’s so obvious. And he went above and beyond to switch managements so he can come out. He never said it, but I think he was doing it for you.” 

So it’s true. All the things he said about doing things for Harry were true. He’s not sure what to do with that information. 

“I don’t know what to do, Ni,” he admits. There’s a small pause, then, “You still love him, right?” 

“Shit, yeah. I do. I tried not to, I tried really hard, but I can’t _not_ love him.”  
“Harry, no one can tell you what to do and no one can guarantee you that you’re going to work everything out or that it won’t hurt like shit. But do you want to regret losing him for the rest of your life? That’s a really long time,” Niall says, and that’s when realization hits him. Niall is right. 

“I need to talk to him,” he says, already scrambling to get on his feet and out of the apartment. 

“Try his apartment or the studio,” Niall says, “He called me this morning that he has to rerecord something and that they’ll leave for tour tomorrow” 

“Thank you, Ni, I owe you,” he says and hangs up a second later. 

It’s just past noon, so Harry just guesses that he might have the best luck at the studio. He hopes that it’s still the same one he recorded his album at two years ago, because he’d be really fucking lost if not. 

It takes about twenty minutes with the tube to get to the studio. The universe might be on his side of things for once, because there’s a small crowd of people in front of the main entrance, and Harry has to dig deep in his brain to remember that there is some sort of back entrance. 

It doesn’t really cross his mind that Louis might not want to see him, or that he might not be welcomed in a recording studio he hasn’t been in in almost three years, he just knows that he _has_ to talk to Louis. 

No one even pays attention to him when he walks in, and Harry rubs his sweaty hands on the fabric of his jeans. The corridors are silent and swallow the sound of his steps as he walks, trying to figure out where to go from here. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m looking for Louis Tomlinson? I’m a friend of his,” he asks as soon as he sees someone walking down the corridor. 

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? I remember your face,” the lady says, examining from head to toe. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Around two years ago.” 

“That’s right. You’re the boyfriend,” she nods knowingly, and points down the hall, “This way, third door on the right.” 

He doesn’t even bother correcting her, just thanks her and hurries in the direction she pointed. 

When he opens the door to said room, he’s expecting to be met with stern looks and frowns, maybe someone asking him to leave, maybe Louis yelling at him to get out. It’s none of that. Instead, it’s empty. The recording booth as well as the rest of the room. Harry can feel his heart sink in his chest. He’s about to turn and run after the woman he talked to, hoping she’d know where Louis could be, when he notices a sheet of lyrics taped to the wall. 

It’s in Louis’ scribbled handwriting, and Harry’s breath hitches in his throat when he lets his eyes wander over them. Some of them are marked with bright green highlighter, and he reads them again and again and again until they are burned into the inside of his brain. 

_I went to Amsterdam without you  
And all I could do was think about you_

Amsterdam. For Harry’s eighteenth birthday, Louis took him on a weekend trip to Amsterdam à la Hazel Grace and Gus. They both read the book months prior, and cried ugly tears until they both felt dehydrated. The weather was horrible for the entire trip, but they made the best of it and bought an umbrella that could barely fit them both. Those were the best three days of his entire life. 

_I'm wastin' my time  
When it was always you, always you  
Chasin' the high  
But it was always you, always you_

Harry tightens his grip around the edge of the desk, leaning forward to decipher the messy scrawls on the paper. He swallows heavily. Shit. 

_Should've never let you go  
Should've never let you go, my baby_

The day they finally broke up is pushed down deep in Harry’s brain, he doesn’t like to think of it. 

_He’s twenty-two, and hot tears are streaming down his face._

_“Don’t do this to me, H, don’t,” Louis eyes are wide and his voice pleading when he follows him down the hall of the flat they used to call home._

_“Don’t walk out of that fucking door!”_

_Harry abruptly turns around to him, like Louis slapped him, “You walk out of that fucking door all the damn time and I don’t get to have a say in it, either!”_

_“It’s my job,” Louis says, eyes growing cold and Harry hates the sight of it. It feels like someone is stabbing him in the chest, the way his face closes off._

_“It’s not your job to leave and ignore me for days on end,” he hisses and grips the strap of his backpack, “It’s not your job to criticize me for every single thing I do, it’s not your job to be a fucking asshole to my friends just because you can’t get a grip! It’s not your job to be distant and oceans away even when we’re in the same fucking room.”  
“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here, Harry!” Louis spits. His hand trembles when he pushes his fringe out of his forehead. _

_“I’m not saying you are! I’m just sick of pretending like all of this isn’t hurting me just as much as it hurts you.”_

_“Of course you are! If it sucks that much being with me, why do you even bother?”_

_“I don’t fucking now,” he bellows and opens the door. He doesn’t turn back when he walks out of the apartment, door clicking into the lock behind him._

Harry shakes his head and pushes the memory down again. Now is not the time and place to think about this. 

_I went from LAX to Heathrow  
Walked through my door but it felt nothing like home  
'Cause you're not home  
Waiting to wrap your legs around me_

As much as he can argue that their breakup was inevitable with the way everything went down, he can’t quite forgive himself for the way he left. It took him two weeks to go back to the apartment. He didn’t have any clean clothes left and desperately needed his textbooks so he wouldn’t fall behind in university. He picked a day where he knew Louis wouldn’t be home, packed his clothes and books into two suitcases and left his key on the dresser next to the door. 

The mere thought of what Louis must have gone through when he came home to all of the clothes gone and the keys on the shelf breaks his heart. He knows Louis, probably better than himself, and he doesn’t understand how he was able to do that to him. 

His train of thought is interrupted by the door opening and Louis’ voice, “Let me just grab my wallet and we’ll be – oh”

“Hi,” he says, voice almost inaudible. He clears his throat. 

Louis’ eyes are wide when he shuts the door behind him and his voice is cold as he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you decided last night that you ‘need time’,” he mimics air-quotes with his fingers and looks at him with raised eyebrows. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. Just – I’m stupid, okay? I was scared and I still am, but I can’t let you go back on tour without telling you that I’m sorry and that – that I still love you. More than anything,” he says shakily and watches Louis’ expressions closely as he takes a few steps toward him. 

“Go on,” Louis prompts, but there are faint hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Harry rolls his eyes. He’s always been that way, making him go the extra mile and making him earn it. 

He lets his hand fall to Louis’ waist and doesn’t break their eye-contact when he starts talking, “I never got our tattoos covered. I told everyone that it was because I think that it’d be shallow and it would make me a liar, but the truth is that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I still have that stupid blue dolphin you won me at the arcade. I call Jay every two weeks and on mother’s day, and on her birthday. When I feel lonely, I listen to _Science & Faith_ and pretend I’m sixteen again. I check the pockets – “ 

“ – of every pair of trousers for tissues because I never did?” Louis asks, smile finally breaking through. Harry can feel his fingers digging into his hips through his shirt, and that simple touch is already driving him insane. 

“Yeah. It’s weird I still do that, isn’t it?” He asks. The skin around Louis’ eyes crinkles when his smile reaches them. Harry loves it. 

“I guess I just traumatized you,” he chuckles, and Harry has to kiss him. 

In a weird way, it kind of resembles their first kiss. Their noses bump, and Louis giggles a little, and it feels like they’re back on the swing seat in Holmes Chapel, swinging slightly as their mouths slot together. 

They’re not swinging, of course, which is probably for the better because Harry can feel his knees growing weak when he’s finally kissing Louis. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. 

Louis’ mouths is slick against his, and his hands are in his hair, fingers twisting around curls in the exact way he loves it. He whimpers into the kiss and pushes forward until Louis is backed up against the wall. 

He forcefully wills himself to back away, to stop, and his entire body resents him for it. 

“Shit,” Louis groans and lets his head fall back, “How do you still manage to do this to me?”

“It’s like being sixteen all over again,” Harry agrees, panting. 

***

 _A little bird told me you’re back together with Louis_. Harry rolls his eyes at the message from his sister. Fucking Niall and fucking small town rumor mill. 

He rolls over onto his stomach and starts typing, phone resting on Louis’ bare chest. 

_It hasn’t even been 12 hours, Niall needs to learn to keep his mouth shut_. 

_I knew the moment you showed up together at home. You still look at him the same way_. He frowns at his phone and is still thinking of what to reply when it chimes with another text. 

_He does too_. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if our families would stay out of our relationship for once?” He asks Louis and shuts his phone off. 

“It’s Gemma, am I right?” He guesses without opening his eyes. 

“Of course it is,” Harry groans. He throws the phone aside and curls around Louis, inhaling deeply. His smell is so familiar and soothing, a deep feeling of contentedness settles in his stomach. 

It’s nearly two in the morning, and Harry is so tired, he can barely keep his eyes open. But Louis leaves for Glasgow the next morning, and they’re both trying not to fall asleep even though neither of them acknowledges it. 

“She had a talk with me the day of the barbecue,” Louis says, running his hands through Harry’s hair. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I don’t want to say she _threatened_ me, but she did say she’d cut off all of my fingers one by one if I ever hurt you again,” he chuckles slightly and Harry buries his face in his hands, “Oh my God. I can’t believe her.”

“I told her I’m not going to. I thought you should know that, too, H. I really want us to make it work this time.”

“I know, me too. And we’re going to. There’s a lot of shit we need to talk about and I’m not saying we should put it off, but – you’re leaving tomorrow and I really don’t want to have a hard conversation right now,” he sighs, stretching to kiss Louis’ cheek. 

“Promise me you’re here when I get back,” Louis says, tightening his grip around Harry’s waist. 

“I’ll stay in this damn bed for two weeks if that’s what it takes,” he jokes. In a more serious tone he says, “I promise.” 

“Thank you” 

“Can you promise me something, too?” Harry asks as he lazily retraces the ink on Louis’ skin. 

“No, I won’t ever learn to throw away my tissues before I put my pants into the laundry” 

“Ugh, I hate you,” Harry laughs. 

“What do you want me to promise?” 

“Put that song about us on your next album. I read the lyrics at the studio today,” he admits. 

“Already done. It’s probably going to be the first single.” 

Harry props himself up on his elbows so his face hovers above Louis’ and says, “I’m sorry for how we broke up. It was selfish of me.” 

Louis closes his eyes and sighs, “It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re okay now, aren’t we?” 

His hands cups Harry’s face and he looks deep into his eyes, and Harry know it’s true. They are okay, and they will be, no matter what they have to do to make sure of that. 

“I’m really glad we are,” he whispers, and leans down to kiss him. It’s two in the morning, and they are both on the verge of getting too delusional to keep up a conversation and Louis’ bed is warm and comfortable and Clifford the dog is sleeping on the rug next to the door and Louis’ lips are soft and warm and for the first time in two years, Harry feels like he’s finally _home_.


End file.
